


quantum entanglement

by minsyah



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee Shops, College Professor Yuuri, First Meetings, Fluff, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Humor, M/M, Math Tutor Viktor, Miscommunication, Mistaken Identity, Pining, Wayward Youth Yurio, Yuuri is high key thirsty, dumb boys making dumb decisions, mild swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-15 13:23:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minsyah/pseuds/minsyah
Summary: For some reason, the man—Viktor—sits in front of him, silver hair flouncing as he settles comfortably into the chair, introducing himself as Yuuri’s new math tutor with an easy smile.And Yuuri, 25 years old with a Ph.D. in Applied Mathematics…doesn’t correct him.(Viktor mistakes Yuuri for a high school student struggling with Geometry. Yuuri’s too awkward to figure out how to tell him otherwise.)





	quantum entanglement

**Author's Note:**

> quick note: to make it perfectly clear, there are NO underage relationships in this fic! Viktor thinks Yuuri is in high school for portion of this fic but there is absolutely nothing romantic between them when Viktor thinks Yuuri is underage
> 
> beta'd by [cadenhead12](http://cadenhead12.tumblr.com/) and [paperthestral](https://paperthestral.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at [pockybugi!](http://pockybugi.tumblr.com/)

>   ** _quantum entanglement_ ** _: the phenomenon where particles can interact physically with each other no matter the conditions or distance_

It starts, like almost all of the decisions Yuuri’s made in his adult life, in a Starbucks. 

Yuuri doesn’t understand why he spends so much time at the coffee shop chain – he doesn’t even drink coffee. There’s plenty of nicer places he could do his work, like his university office or his shared apartment with Phichit where they have no less than four rolling whiteboards in the living room and the Fukujuen matcha he imports specially from Japan.

Yet nearly four days a week, Yuuri finds himself at the Starbucks outside his apartment, crammed into a booth with his notes piled haphazardly on the small table. 

Phichit tells him it’s very corporate of him and Yuuri, wincing as he hands the cashier another five dollars for a scalding cup of green tea that tastes more like burn than actual tea flavor, can’t disagree.

Yuuri is settled at a table furthest away from the windows, drawn to the warmth emanating from the barista counter beside him. It’s nearly April, but Detroit is still locked in the frozen tundra of winter. Yuuri’s wardrobe for the past few months has consisted only of the long woolen scarf his mother knitted for him back in high school and the tattered, puffy winter coat an overzealous Uniqlo employee bullied him into buying.

Surprisingly, the store is nearly empty at this time, with Yuuri being the sole customer. The employees have congregated on one side of the counter and are idly chatting with one another. One of them, Guang-Hong, is Yuuri’s head TA for the introductory calculus course he teaches, and he briefly stops by to bring Yuuri a refill for his drink, free of charge.

Yuuri smiles awkwardly at him and forces himself to swallow another mouthful of tasteless leaf water.

Yuuri’s been here several hours by now, eye deep in equations made up of more letters than numbers and more tears than any actual logical sense. He has a paper on Interpolation in Algebraic Geometry due in two weeks and Yuuri feels nowhere close to finishing. The scratch paper he was working on starts to look like a mess of pointless scribbles. He angrily crosses out the line he was working on, and notices he was just idly scribing the numbers of the Fibonacci Sequence in lieu of proper values.

Yuuri’s considering calling it a day—maybe stopping by the nearby market to grab some groceries for dinner tonight—when it happens.

Someone moves to stand in front of Yuuri’s table, their figure blocking the light hanging above the table. Yuuri’s about to look up, to wave Guang-Hong off and let him know he doesn’t need another refill when the smoothest voice he’s ever heard interrupts him, sending shivers down his spine.

“Excuse me, are you…Yūri?”

“Ah-guh— “

The man gives him a gorgeous smile, shifting the leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder into a more comfortable position. He’s the prettiest man Yuuri’s ever seen—probably ever _will_ see in his short, disgraceful life. His skin is pale and pretty, a rosy blush settled on his high cheekbones. His hair is a shock of silver, wind-tousled and swept to the side, yet it looks completely natural on this vision of a man. He’s ethereal—like he’s walked directly out of a Tolkien novel and into the real world.

Yuuri, who’s wearing an old Legend of Zelda hoodie speckled with bleach stains and has a cascade of crumbs down his front from the four cake pops he stress-ate earlier, feels like a garbage bag in his presence.

“Pardon?” The man asks, still smiling brightly. It’s like looking into the sun. What’s the point of Yuuri’s expensive trifocals if he’s gone blind?

Yuuri straightens up, quickly dusting the crumbs off his chest and to the floor all while stammering nervously. “Um, I—yes! That’s me. I’m Y _uu_ ri” he says, making sure to elongate the vowel in his name. Last quarter, a vindicated journalism student Yuuri had to fail somehow managed to misspell Yuuri’s name as ‘Yaoi Katsuki’ in the school newspaper and he _definitely_ has a complex about his name now.

The man blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting the correction. “Oh, um, alright. _Yuuri_?” The man tests out, lips curling around his name like velvet. It’s like a sucker punch in the gut and Yuuri feels winded. The man gestures somewhat awkwardly to the empty chair in front of him. “Um, may I?”

Yuuri’s nod is more of a jerky twitch and he scrambles to sweep his papers into one pile and tuck them into his folder, inwardly wincing at the knowledge that it will take him hours to sort them back properly.

The man shrugs off his coat and drapes it over the chair back, sitting primly with ankles crossed. Now that they’re eye-level, Yuuri can take in the man’s face more clearly—can notice the gentle curve of his cupid’s bow and the way his silvery lashes frame his bright eye.

Inexplicably, Yuuri’s favorite color is now blue.

The man slips several sheets of paper out of his bag and places them on the table in front of Yuuri.

“Well, since this is our first meeting, I wanted to start off with a small quiz so I could judge your skill level. It shouldn’t take too long—it’s just so I can see what you’re comfortable with.”

Yuuri looks down at the paper, blinking rapidly. The first question asks him to find the hypotenuse of a right triangle.

Yuuri looks back up. “Um.”

He must mistake his look of confusion for something else because he suddenly chuckles, glancing down at the paper. “Is everything alright? I’m sure your grandfather let you know what the plan was for today,  but you shouldn’t worry too much. I’m here to help you, after all.”

“My grandfather…?” Yuuri trails off. Yuuri’s grandfather is a rice farmer living in the backwaters of Kyushu who’s missing both his front teeth and probably knows five English words _max_.

The man nods once, resting his elbows on the table and balancing his chin on the back of his interlaced hands.

“I’m Viktor Nikiforov,” he says with a smile that will undoubtedly make an appearance in Yuuri’s dreams tonight, “and I’m your new math tutor.”

————————————————————

Yuuri gets eight out of twenty points. _Eight_ out of _twenty_. That’s not even 50%. Yuuri wants to mail back his diploma to Stanford because he obviously doesn’t deserve it if he gets _eight_ out of _twenty_ points on a quiz about _triangles_.

Yuuri wants to melt into the floor as Viktor goes through his worksheet, a trail of red marks littering the page. Yuuri had to ask what the Pythagorean theorem was like some sort of _8_ _th_ _grader_. He’s never going to live this down.

Viktor hums thoughtfully as he finishes reading through the quiz, setting his red pen down on the tabletop. “Not bad. You did well, Yuuri.”

Yuuri chokes. “Not bad?” He asks incredulously. Are they even looking at the same paper?

Viktor coughs awkwardly into his hand, looking somewhat sheepish. “Well, you missed a lot of points but most of them are just from simple arithmetic errors. It looks like you have quite a good understanding of the concepts. We just need to work on your performance.”

Yuuri glance back down at the paper between them. On one of the problems, Yuuri wrote that the square root of nine was eighty-one because Viktor sneezed lightly into his elbow and Yuuri was distracted by how cute the sound was and by the fact that Viktor was courteous enough to turn his face away (Phichit and his open-mouth sneezing will actually one day kill him). He looks back up.

Viktor shoots him what seems to be an encouraging smile. “You’ll be alright, Yuuri. You’re worried about graduating, right? Since you need to pass this geometry class first? That’s why I’m here. I’ll take care of you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri wants Viktor to take care of him in other ways. He coughs into his fist, glancing to the side.

Another moment of silence of passes, Viktor looking intently at Yuuri. When Yuuri doesn’t speak, another unreadable look passes over Viktor’s face before he slides the paper across the table until it nudges Yuuri’s hand. “Here, I wrote some comments on each problem. Why don’t you take some time to look over them and then we can discuss what you’re stuck on? Unless there’s something else you’d want to talk about.” The smile he gives Yuuri is bright and cheery, lips curving into a small heart. Yuuri can’t do anything but agree when faced with such a look. He nods jerkily, ducking his head as he focuses on the worksheet.

He goes through the problems slowly, wincing at every careless error and missed point. However, he can’t truly concentrate because he’s distinctly aware that Viktor is staring at him, his gaze boring into Yuuri’s face.

It’s unnerving how intense Viktor’s stare is, and Yuuri feels self-conscious, resisting the urge to hide his face from view. Yuuri takes a moment to steel himself before shyly looking up, meeting Viktor’s eyes.

“Um, did you need something?” He asks and Viktor jolts in surprise at suddenly being addressed, eyes widening.

Viktor lets out a nervous laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. A pretty flush blooms over the apple of his cheeks and Yuuri’s chest feels tight.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to stare, I just—“ Viktor glances at Yuuri from the corner of his eyes, looking thoroughly abashed.“I...a-are you adopted, Yuuri?”

Yuuri chokes. “A-adopted?” He stammers, incredulous. This entire situation is ridiculous—Yuuri would be convinced this is all just an incredibly vivid dream except for the fact that Viktor was just too pretty for Yuuri’s imagination to make up by itself.

Viktor’s scratches the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger. “Ah, as you know, I work with your grandfather. And from what he’s told me,  I’ve always assumed you were his biological grandson. That’s why I was so surprised when I first arrived. After all—you’ve obviously not Russian.”

Yuuri is, indeed, obviously not Russian.

“I— “

It suddenly occurs to Yuuri that he’s just been given the perfect opportunity to tell Viktor that this was all just one elaborate understanding—that Yuuri is in fact, _not_ a high schooler failing math and that he apologizes for deceiving him but Yuuri was just too distracted by how nice Viktor’s smile is and couldn’t find a good time to correct him.

Unfortunately, Yuuri’s mouth moves faster than his brain.

“I—yes, I’m adopted,” Yuuri rushes out, word tumbling out of his mouth before he can even register what they are.

Yuuri’s thirst has apparently turned him into a liar as well.

“Oh,” Viktor says, blinking owlishly. He gives Yuuri a tentative smile. “Well, um, that must have been an experience.”

“Um, well, yeah—I guess,” Yuuri answers lamely. There’s a moment where the two of them stare awkwardly at each other, unsure of what to say next. Viktor ends up looking away first, clearing his throat before he grabs the worksheet in front of Yuuri, scanning the problem that Yuuri left off on.

It’s unfair how attractive Viktor is, with his hair swooping elegantly over his forehead and his fluttery silver lashes. _It’s unfair_ , Yuuri thinks, thickly swallowing as he watches Viktor absentmindedly lick his dry lips, tugging at the collar of his button down. How is Yuuri supposed to focus when he’s sitting in front of someone like _that_?

Viktor suddenly looks up with a shy smile and Yuuri jolts in surprise, electric tingles racing up his arms at the sudden eye contact.

“Yuuri?” Viktor asks. Yuuri’s name has never sounded better on anyone else’s lips. “Do you know the difference between obtuse and acute angles?”

Yuuri looks down at the problem Viktor’s on, where, in a moment of distraction, Yuuri mistakenly labeled all the vertices of a triangle as 100˚.

“Um, I think so?” Yuuri offers weakly. The corners of Viktor’s eyes crinkle as he chuckles, leaning closer to Yuuri as he explains the problem, his words ghosting over Yuuri’s face because of their close proximity. Yuuri can smell the intoxicating notes of Viktor’s cologne at this distance and he’s embarrassed by the warmth that suddenly pools in his gut. He can’t help but lean in just a tiny bit closer, basking in Viktor’s presence.

There’s no turning back now.

————————————————————

“Phichit, do you think I look seventeen?”

Phichit looks up from where he’s lounging on the coach, cocking his head curiously at his roommate’s question. “Wait, is this why you’ve spent the last twenty minutes staring at your reflection?”

Yuuri sighs, turning away from the mirror and shooting him a deadpan look. “Just answer the question,” he says.

Phichit quickly glances up and down Yuuri’s figure, lips pursed in thought. “Hm—well, I guess,” he finally says.

“What do you mean ‘I guess’?” Yuuri demands, whipping back around to look at his face. He turns back just as quickly, leaning in closer to the mirror and observing his face intensely.

Phichit shrugs half-heartedly. “Well, you got one of those faces, you know? Like, you _could_ be a teenager in high school but you could also tell me you’re thirty-four and expecting your second child and I would believe you.” Phichit takes a sip of his tea before setting his mug back down on the coffee table. “It’s our Asian genes, Yuuri. We’re timeless. It’s the reason why I can still get away paying the youth bus fare. The bus driver thinks I’m on the Junior Varsity track team with his nephew.”

Yuuri’s sense of peril only increases with Phichit’s explanation and he leans even closer towards the mirror, observing his face with a critical eye. His hair has grown out since last summer, shaggy and unkempt. It almost touches the base of his neck now. Isn’t that the style? For those edgy teenagers? His figure is rounded from weeks of eating takeout; he’s always too lazy to make dinner once he gets home.  Yuuri pinches at his chubby cheeks—could they perhaps be mistaken as baby fat?

“Yuuri, don’t worry about it too—oh my god, Yuuri? Are you crying?” Phichit suddenly sits up, eyes the size of dinner plates.

Yuuri sniffs as he stares mournfully at Phichit, tears budding at the corner of his eyes. He rubs his nose with his back of his hand. How is this Yuuri’s actual life right now?

“Phichit,” he blubbers, snot running down his face. “What a-am I supposed to do? He thinks I don’t understand triangles.”

Phichit looks pitifully at Yuuri, opening his arms wide towards him. “Oh, Yuuri, my sweet summer child,” Phichit says with a shake of his head, almost fondly. “Come here to Mama Phichit and tell me everything.”

————————————————————

Yuuri comes into the coffee shop with a game plan—one that he and Phichit spent all last night diagramming on one of their 4x5 whiteboards.

He’s not going to hesitate this time—the moment Viktor comes in, he’s going to sit him down and let him know that was all a misunderstanding and Yuuri _does_ know the difference between obtuse and acute angles and if Viktor needs proof, Yuuri has a photo of his Ph.D. on his phone, and that Yuuri is _really_ sorry about everything but can Yuuri take him out to lunch or dinner sometime because Yuuri’s spent the last four days dopily doodling Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov in his lecture notes like a middle schooler.

He’s got this. He’s spent all morning practicing in the mirror. But if he doesn’t, Yuuri has a small stack of notecards in his front coat pocket to remind him of his script.

Guang-Hong’s at the register when Yuuri nears, waving in greeting when Yuuri stops in front of the counter.

“Hi, Professor!” Guang-Hong chirps. Yuuri shakes his head with an awkward chuckle.

“It’s just Yuuri,” he reminds him. “You’re no longer my student now, Guang-Hong. Just call me Yuuri.”

The younger man lets out a light laugh. “Sorry, sorry. Force of habit. A Grande green tea, right? Are you working on grading the midterms today?”

Yuuri winces at the reminder, thinking of the large stack of tests sitting in his office. “Not today,” he says, pulling out his wallet and hanging Guang-Hong a five-dollar bill. “I have other plans today.”

“Oh, are you meeting up with your friend again then?”

Yuuri chokes, wallet tumbling out of his hands and coins spilling onto the countertop. He ignores Guang-Hongs squeak of surprise as he rushes to pick up all the coins, blindsided by the sudden feeling of fear that overtakes his entire body.

“M-my friend?” Yuuri stammers.

Guang-Hong nervously nods. “Um—yes?” The one you were with last week?” He offers, tone turning unsure. “I think you two were going over some math worksheets. Is he another professor in the department? I don’t think I recognize him.”

“I…”

Guang-Hong blinks quizzically at him.

“…yes, he’s another professor. He’s new,” Yuuri explains, wincing at his words.

God, Yuuri’s even lying to his TA now. What kind of monster is he?

“Cool,” Guang-Hong says simply, handing Yuuri back his change. “Tell him I said hi then.”

“I will…” Yuuri says faintly as he turns to sit at a table. Viktor hasn’t even _arrived_ yet but Yuuri already wants to go home, feeling drained.

————————————————————

It’s been forty-five minutes and Viktor still hasn’t shown up.

Yuuri sits at his table, already on his second refill, and tries not to feel like he’s been stood up for a date because this _isn’t_ a date but in fact, an unneeded tutoring session and there shouldn’t be any reason for Yuuri to  _feel_ so hurt. His heart, however, cannot be convinced so easily.

Yuuri stares longingly at the bakery display case and wonders if the birthday sprinkle cake pops are considered out of his diet.

Yuuri jumps nearly a foot in the air when the door suddenly slams open, the bell on the handle ringing shrilly.

It’s Viktor—wearing the tightest pair of neon pink track shorts Yuuri’s ever seen.

(Maybe Yuuri should follow Phichit’s footsteps and _also_ join the Junior-Varsity track team)

“Yuuri,” he gasps out before rushing towards him. “I’m so, _so_ sorry! I didn’t mean to be so late.”

“V-viktor?” Yuuri stammers as the man practically collapses into the chair in front of him. “I—are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats again. “I was at the gym and normally I would have enough time to go home and shower but there was a big accident on the freeway and it was backed up for miles.”

Viktor wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist. His _exposed_ wrist. Because Viktor’s only wearing a thin cotton tank top that exposes the entirety of his cut and toned side.

Yuuri feels light-headed.

Viktor continues, unaware of the inner turmoil he’s causing in Yuuri. “I was going to text you and asked if I could push back our meeting for another day but I realize we didn’t even exchange numbers last time. I tried to get here as fast as I could once I realized.”

“I- it’s okay, Viktor. I understand,” Yuuri reassures him.  Yuuri’s spent hours planning out all the different directions this meeting could go but he absolutely was not prepared for something like this.

Viktor huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head so his damp hair falls loosely in front of his forehead. “You’re too nice, Yuuri,“ he says, and Yuuri hates how good those simple words make him feel. “Here.” He picks up Yuuri’s phone that was lying face-up on the counter, frozen at the still of a cute dog video Yuuri was watching before he came, and swiftly types something in.

He hands it back to Yuuri once he’s finished.

“My number—both work and cell,” Viktor elaborates as Yuuri stares incredulously at the new contact information in his phone. “That way something like this won’t happen again. Or, if you need me—for whatever reason.”

Yuuri looks up from his phone to where Viktor is smiling at him, bright and disarming.

Yuuri is a weak, _weak_ man.

“Thanks,” Yuuri eventually says and Viktor’s smile becomes a tiny bit wider before he opens his bag and takes out several pieces of paper.

“I emailed your teacher and she sent me your course outline for the semester.” Viktor says, “You have a test next week so I whipped up a little study guide and found some practice problems we can go through to prepare. Unless, of course, you’d like to do something else instead?”

“I…”

Yuuri looks down at the papers Viktor’s placed in front of him. Looks at the hand-written study guide Viktor prepared for him, neatly labeled and color-coded with the cutest doodle of a poodle in the left-hand corner.

The notecards sit heavily in Yuuri’s pocket.

“Okay,” Yuuri says, picking up his mechanical pencil. “Where do we start?”

————————————————————

“Phichit…”

“…you weren’t able to tell him, were you?”

Yuuri sniffles noisily, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt. “I have a math test on proofs on Thursday,” he tells him mournfully.

Phichit sighs, capping the expo marker he was using on the whiteboard before turning around to power his desktop on.

“Come on, honey,” Phichit says, beckoning him with a single finger. Yuuri immediately rushes to his side, letting Phichit sweep him into a one-armed embrace and burrowing into his chest. “Let’s see if we can find any unit tests on Chegg we can print out.”

————————————————————

By their fourth meeting, Yuuri’s resigned himself to the fact that this is his life now—and it’s all his fault.

Yuuri’s tried to tell Viktor that he’s not actually this ‘Yuri Plisetsky’—multiple times, in fact. But at their last tutoring session, Viktor looked so excited to explain postulates to him—stumbling over his words in his eagerness to teach Yuuri, eyes sparkling like the most precious of gems every time when Yuuri gets a problem right— that Yuuri couldn’t bear to tell him then. And every time Yuuri finally worked up the nerve to text him, hiding his shame behind a screen, Viktor would always somehow text first, sending him a link to a reference book he thought would be helpful or a quick text of good luck for “Yuri’s” upcoming quiz.

 _He’s sweet_ , Yuuri thinks, watching Viktor nibble on a blueberry muffin as he rifles through Yuuri’s test, _and he likes math._  Yuuri never stood a chance.

“You did really well!” Viktor compliments him after he finishes reviewing the test. “I’m so proud of you, Yuuri!”

Yuuri chuckles awkwardly, avoiding looking at the big red ‘B-‘ Yuuri drew himself on the test he and Phichit printed online. He’s a sham. Yuuri doesn’t even deserve to _look_ at Viktor.

“It’s all because you’re a good teacher,” Yuuri says shyly, and Viktor’s cheeks turn red but he straightens up slightly, chest puffed out a little with pride.

“If you keep this up, there’s no doubt you’ll be on track to graduating. What do you think? Great, right?” Viktor grabs another pen out of his bag, oblivious to the wince on Yuuri’s face at his words.

Yuuri hopes the real Yuri Plisetsky is doing well in his class, considering that Yuuri essentially stole his tutor.

“Ah, that reminds me,” Viktor says, smiling encouragingly at Yuuri. “Congratulations on getting into University of Michigan.”

Yuuri wheezes. “U-university of Michigan?” He asks warily.

Viktor nods, taking a brief sip of his French vanilla latte. “Your grandfather told me earlier how you got your acceptance yesterday. You must be so excited.”

“A-ah, yes…I did…” Oh god, what if Yuri Plisetsky is one of his students next year? Yuuri feels like that goes against some code of academic integrity. Oh god, what if he gets _fired_ because of this? Yuuri’s tenure is the only thing he has going on for him and he can’t risk that.

Viktor continues on. “You know, Michigan’s mathematics department has a pretty great reputation. Maybe if this class goes well, you’ll be inspired to study it for your major.”

Michigan’s math department _better_ have a great reputation. After all, Yuuri hasn’t spent the last four years developing new curriculum and reinventing the department from the inside-out for nothing. Yuuri’s going for that Outstanding Faculty award this year and he’s going for it _hard_.

Yuuri simply chuckles awkwardly.

Viktor laughs, giving an unsure shrug. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pressure you or anything. You have plenty time to figure out what you’d like to do. You’re young, after all.”

Yuuri is twenty-five and withered.

Yuuri shakes his head. “No! You’re not pressuring me,” Yuuri reassures him. He looks shyly at Viktor. “Say, Viktor. You really like math, don’t you?”

Viktor give off an embarrassed laugh, cheeks stained a blooming pink. “You can tell?” He asks, scratching at his jaw.

Last meeting, Viktor went off at a twenty-minute tangent about the childhood background of Johann Lambert and how he came to discover that π is an irrational number. Yuuri is only slightly smitten.

He nods.

“Well, I studied it for my undergrad,” Viktor explains. Yuuri blinks in surprise at the sudden revelation. “But after graduating, I had a hard time finding a job in the field so I ended up working for my godfather at his translation company.”

“Oh…” Yuuri’s not sure what to say.

“It’s not like I dislike it there!” Viktor reassures him quickly. “I’d still love to work with math as a career but sometimes things just don’t work out.”

Viktor grimaces at his own words. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound pessimistic. Don’t be worried—I like my job! There’s nothing wrong with it!”

Test now long forgotten, Yuuri leans in towards Viktor, curiosity piqued. “Um, if you’re okay with me asking, what did you want to do? Before you worked as a translator?”

Viktor looks abashed at the question, hands twiddling on the table. “Well, I wanted to be a teacher,” he admits. Yuuri’s mouth drops open in surprise.

“Really?” He asks.

Viktor nods. “I guess you can say this is like my passion project, I guess,” Viktor admits. “I was really excited to have the opportunity to be your tutor and teach you about math, so I’m sorry if I came off as overzealous.”

For some reason, Viktor’s admission makes Yuuri feel special. He feels closer to Viktor—to be entrusted with this knowledge not just about Viktor the tutor but as Viktor the person. Yuuri’s startled by how much he enjoys it.

“You would’ve made a great teacher,” Yuuri tells him seriously. It’s obvious with the way Viktor’s passion for the subject bleeds into his obviously practiced, clear explanations. “Anyone would be lucky to be your student. _I’m_ lucky to be your student.”

It takes a moment for Viktor to respond and Yuuri’s worried he’s overstepped his bounds—might’ve read the situation incorrectly and said the wrong thing. But then Viktor looks up, eyes suspiciously watery and smile a tad wobbly.

“Thank you, Yuuri,” he says, somewhat choked up. “That really means a lot.”

Ears burning, all Yuuri can do is smile before ducking his head down to resume working on his math problems.

————————————————————

“Yuuri…”

Yuuri looks up from where he’s pouring over a piece of paper, meeting eyes with a disapproving Phichit standing in the doorway.

“Don’t you have a lesson plan to make?” Phichit asks him accusatorily. Yuuri winces, shrinking back in shame.

“…Viktor wanted to see my note sheet for my quiz tomorrow…”

Phichit sighs fondly, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’re a mess,” Phichit laughs.

Yuuri, face the color of a tomato and wearing the orange Naruto pajamas he got when he was seventeen, can’t disagree.

Phichit chuckles, clicking his tongue. “Godspeed, Yuuri,” he says, shaking his head. “ Go find the slope of that ass.”

Yuuri sputters, ears burning red-hot. “Phichit!”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry. I meant, find the equation of his one loop limacon.”

“That’s not what I was focusing on!” Yuuri shouts.

Phichit raises a brow.

Yuuri falters, turning away and looking at the floor. “It’s more like two asymmetric probability distributions...probably most similar to a log-normal distribution...maybe with an exponential, I dunno,” he mumbles. “His smile is what looks like a limacon.”

Phichit barks out a laugh, shaking his head before turning to leave. “You're too much, Yuuri,” Phichit calls out over his shoulder before walking down the hallway and disappearing into his room. “I hope he’s worth it.”

“He is,” Yuuri whispers to himself, long after Phichit is gone.

————————————————————

All good things must come to an end and for Yuuri, it ends with $40 stolen from his wallet and the fear of God instilled into him.

Yuuri’s back at his local Starbucks an hour before his next tutoring session with Viktor. He’s finishing his lecture outline for tomorrow’s class when a hand suddenly slams down on the table in front of him, nearly toppling his drink and eliciting a terrified squeak out of Yuuri.

He looks up to see the owner of the hand and ends up shrinking back when he locks eyes with a glaring young man, teeth bared into a snarl.

“Are you Yūri?” He demands. Yuuri can only nod fearfully.

The blonde’s lips suddenly curl into a smirk and Yuuri becomes even more frightened as he plops into the other seat, crossing his legs threateningly.

Oh god, he’s wearing ripped jeans. What if he’s part of a gang?

“That’s funny,” He says in a way that definitely implies that this is in no way funny, “because _I’m_ Yuri.”

Yuri Plisetsky gives Yuuri a disgusted once over, lips curling in distaste. “So, tell me,” he says, “who the hell are you?”

————————————————————

Yuuri ends up spilling the entire story in less than ten minutes because Yuri Plisetsky has the meanest glare he’s ever encountered and Yuuri’s weak under pressure.

“You’re an actual fucking idiot,” is the first thing Yuri tells him when he finishes explaining his story. Yuuri hangs his head in shame. He can’t argue—he knows he’s an idiot, has been telling himself that every single time he willingly prolongs this charade.

Yuri groans, rubbing at his temples with his thumb and forefinger. Yuuri never gave too much thought to what Yuri was actually like. Every time he tried, he was confronted by a sudden nauseating wave of guilt for impersonating him for his own selfish reasons.

But even if Yuuri _did_ let himself imagine what Yuri Plisetsky was like, he never would’ve imagined him like this. Yuri is tall and lanky, probably around the same height as Yuuri but skinny like a weed. He’s pale with piercing stormy eyes and shaggy blonde hair swept into a stubbly low ponytail.

He has ear piercings, and heavy silver chains hanging off his belt. He looks like the type of guy who would bully Yuuri for his lunch money and then use it to buy junk foods high in saturated fats.

“I thought when Gramps stopped hounding me about a tutor, it was because he finally let it go,” Yuri sighs. He drops his hand and glares at Yuuri. “But then last night, he’s suddenly congratulating me on my math test and how he’s _so_ glad I changed my mind and that I’m focusing on my studies for once.”

Yuri’s glare falters for a moment and a sliver of guilt appears briefly on his face before his expression hardens again.

“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t expose your dumb ass for all the shit you pulled?”

There are no reasons. Yuuri hangs his head in defeat, already inwardly preparing himself for the aftermath of all his bad decisions. Should he move back to Japan? Hide out in Hasetsu like a recluse? His parents only know basic algebra— no one would be able to judge him and his terrible choices over there.

“Professor?”

Yuuri chokes, whipping his head up to look at the newcomer.

It’s Guang-Hong, hovering uncertainly near the table in his green barista apron.

He can feel Yuuri’s gaze trained on him like daggers and audibly gulps.

“Um, sorry, yes? Did you need anything, Guang-Hong?”

Guang-Hong glances at Yuuri’s still mostly full cup, now gone cold from waiting out. “O-oh, I just wanted to ask if you’d like a refill.”

Yuuri uncomfortably shakes his head, still incredibly aware of how Yuri’s gaze is boring into the side of his face. “Um, that’s not necessary. Thank…you?” He says it like a question.

With a hesitant nod (and one worried glance directed at the teen nearby), Guang-Hong nervously retreats back behind the counter.

“Professor?” Yuri immediately demands once he’s left.

Yuuri responds with a jerky nod. “U-um, yes. I’m...the Assistant Head of the Mathematics Department. At Michigan.”

Another startled squeak is ripped out of his throat when Yuri suddenly stands up, stool rattling noisily behind him as he braces both hands on the table and leans towards him. He’s close— uncomfortably close— and despite how Yuuri shrinks back, the teen is still directly in his face.

“Michigan?” Yuri asks, voice hushed and taking on some sort of quality Yuuri can’t quite place. “University of Michigan?”

“Y-yes?” Yuuri responds uncertainly and a suspicious gleam takes over Yuri’s eyes.

Suddenly, Yuuri remembers what Viktor told him during their last meeting.

_“Ah, that reminds me! Congratulations on getting into University of Michigan!”_

Yuuri doesn’t know why but something akin to hope starts to well up inside him.

Yuri suddenly coughs, plopping backwards into his seat. There’s a swath of pink creeping down his neck. He looks off to the side, avoiding Yuuri’s surprised eyes.

“I’ll play along with your stupid game,” Yuri tells him, still unwilling to look at him. “Don’t know _why_ you’d want to do this in the first place but I don’t give a shit.”

“U-um…”

“In return!” Yuri continues, raising his voice. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and smirks at Yuuri. In this situation, Yuuri very much feels like a dog with his tail between his legs, getting scolded by its owner. “In return,” Yuri repeats, “you’ll become my tutor.”

“E-excuse me?” Yuuri sputters, mind whirring from the drastic way this conversation has turned. Out of all the situations Yuuri could’ve imagined, there was no way that Yuuri could’ve expected for this to be the outcome.

Yuri sighs, a frown overtaking his features. “I can’t graduate unless I pass this goddamn class,” Yuri grumbles. He looks triumphantly at Yuuri and smirks. “But if I have an actual math professor as my tutor, there’s no way I can fail.”

Yuuri is dumbstruck.

Yuri rises to his feet, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Be here tomorrow,” Yuri says. “At four. I have a math test on Friday.”

Yuuri knows. He’s already found an example test online and is halfway through filling out the answers for the next time he sees Viktor.

Yuri is about to leave, already taking a step towards the exit, when he stills and considers Yuuri for a moment.

“Give me your wallet,” he demands, jerking his head towards him.

Wordlessly, Yuuri takes his leather wallet from his back pocket and hands it to the teen.

Yuri plucks two crisp twenty dollar bills out of his wallet before carelessly tossing it back onto the table. It lands with a little ‘thump’ right in front of Yuuri.

“My price for secrecy,” he explains, tucking the bills into his jacket pocket. “Next time, you can just Venmo me.”

With a careless wave thrown over his shoulder, Yuri leaves the coffee shop and a dumbfounded Yuuri behind.

Yuuri feels like he’s just made a grave mistake.

————————————————————

Yuuri ends up having to cancel his lecture the next day, emailing the class a half-hearted excuse and a promise for extra participation points to everyone for the inconvenience.

He’s too emotionally compromised to teach about quadric surfaces today, still reeling from his intense encounter with Yuri the day before.

Yuuri’s currently hiding out in his apartment, mentally preparing himself for their tutoring session in less than an hour by binge eating strawberry Pocky and using their ChromeCast to stream Bob Ross videos on their flat screen TV.

“Yuuri,” Phichit says disapprovingly from the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“Learning how to paint trees,” Yuuri answers through a mouthful of Pocky. Phichit shakes his head, drying his hands on a kitchen rag before heading over to the living room to sit beside Yuuri on the couch.

“You know what I mean,” Phichit says, and Yuuri winces, the artificial strawberry flavor turning sour on his tongue. “Don’t you think this has been going on too far?”

Yuuri swallows thickly, pausing the video but making no other indication he heard Phichit.

Phichit sighs and continues. “It was funny at first,” he says, “but now it’s gone too far. You’re deceiving him, Yuuri! And now you’ve even gotten the kid to lie too. It’s too much.”

Yuuri knows it’s too much. He thinks about it constantly, the guilt wracking his entire body. Unconsciously, Yuuri’s balled his hands into tight fists, his fingernails leaving deep reddened crescents into his palm.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Phichit says, taking Yuuri’s hand in his own and gently unfurling it, lacing their fingers together once he’s done. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad but you should really think about what you’re doing. This isn’t fair—for _either_ of you.”

“I know,” Yuuri says, voice wobbly. He clears his throat and continues, “I know, Phichit. I just…need some time.”

Just a little bit of time. Just enough to have Viktor for a little bit longer.

Phichit sighs—he’s been having to do a lot of that lately—displeased, but he still wraps an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and gives him a comforting squeeze. “I trust you, Yuuri. That you’ll  do the right thing,” he says, and Yuuri, guiltily, wishes he could say the same for himself.

————————————————————

Yuri is wearing a choker with a skull-and-crossbones on it and loudly smacking his bubblegum and Yuuri is afraid.

“So, you gonna teach me about proofs or what?” Yuri says after a particularly threatening smack. Yuuri winces at the noise.

“W-well, I first thought I should see how you’re doing,” Yuuri timidly offers. He’s tempted to start twiddling his thumbs together just to have a way to expel his nervous energy. “You had a test last week, right? Do you have that with you?”

With a distasteful sniff, Yuri opens ups his binder (held together by only a few strategic pieces of duct tape) and digs a crumpled green packet out of one of the folders and tosses it onto the table. Yuuri picks it up gingerly, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles.

His eyes nearly bulge out of his head when he sees the score written on top.

“T-three out of _fifty_?” He sputters.

Yuri scowls, avoiding Yuuri’s incredulous gaze.

Yuuri flips past the cover page to the next one. And the next one. And the next.

“Yuri, why are all these questions blank?” Yuuri asks, confused. The teen’s scowl deepens.

“…cause I didn’t know how to do any of them,” he grumbles. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of Yuuri’s stomach. Helplessly, Yuuri wonders what exactly he’s gotten himself into. Yuri coughs before continuing on, voice gruff.” Aren’t you supposed to teach me how to do this?” Yuri demands. Yuuri gulps, fingers trembling as he takes a pen out of his shirt pocket.

God help him.

————————————————————

It only takes two three-hour tutoring sessions and one quick skype call for Yuuri to realize that Yuri is…actually pretty good at math.

Yuuri feared the worst when he first saw Yuri’s test score—even more so when he found out that Yuri did not understand a single thing from the past two units.

Yuuri’s pretty much resigned himself to Yuri to choking him with one of his chains around his waist when Yuuri inevitably can’t help raise Yuri’s grade enough for him to graduate and the teen decides to target his violent fury towards him.

Except…Yuri was actually an incredibly intelligent student. Yuuri only needed to go through a single example problem before Yuri understood the concept, quickly solving problem after problem with ease in his neatly printed handwriting.

Yuuri’s looking over the problem Yuri just finished solving in shock, double checking the numbers and formulas and blinking in surprise when they’re all correct. Yuri is sipping at his vanilla bean Frappuccino disinterestedly.

“Yuri?” Yuuri asks tentatively. “How come you’re failing Geometry?”

Yuri gives him an uncaring shrug. “Apparently I don’t _‘pay attention’_ enough in class.”

Yuuri presses his lips together in a frown. “Do you not pay attention to the teacher’s lessons?” He asks.

Immediately, Yuri glowers, face twisting into a scowl. “Shouldn’t even call someone like her a teacher,” he hisses and Yuuri is taken back by the venom in his words.

“You…don’t like your teacher?” Yuuri ventures out a guess.

Yuri snorts. “Why the hell should I? She spends half the class period ranting about how a delinquent like me has no hope for the future and how I’m _so_ stupid that there isn’t even a point in me attending lessons. Why should I pay attention if she doesn’t even want me there in the first place?”

Yuuri is aghast, mouth dropping open in shock. “She said what?” He demands.

Yuri gives another bitter scoff. “You heard me.”

“How can they allow someone like that to become a teacher?” Yuuri huffs, mostly to himself. He shakes his head, taking a deep calming breath. There are more important things to focus on (but Yuuri still makes a mental note to investigate the faculty at Yuri’s school when he has time) “So, are you saying,” Yuuri says slowly,” that the only reason you’re failing is because your teacher hates you so you don’t want to pay attention to her in class?”

Judging by the way Yuri’s jaw twitches and he crosses his arms in front of his chest, he’s hit the nail right on the head.

Slowly, a plan is starting to form in Yuuri’s mind.

“You say your teacher thinks that she has no hope for you in the future, right?” At his disgruntled nod, Yuuri continues. “Instead of just not paying attention, don’t you think it would drive her _crazy_ if you, her least-favorite student, did amazing in her class? _Especially_ if you never pay attention to her.”

A fire’s been ignited in Yuri’s eyes and a dangerous smirk overtakes his face as he straightens up. For once, Yuuri isn’t frightened by the look on the face and instead joins him, a feeling of triumph rising from his chest.

“Show me how to find the surface area again,“ Yuri demands.

Yuuri smiles and takes out a fresh piece of scratch paper.

————————————————————

Viktor is wearing the cutest pair of tortoise shell eyeglasses and Yuuri is s  u  f  f  e  r  i  n  g

He can’t focus on the worksheet Viktor gave him, too entranced by the way Viktor blinks his silvery lashes from behind the lenses. At how the rounded frames complement his blue eyes nicely.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he blurts out and Viktor startles at the sudden question.

“These?” Viktor asks, bringing a self-conscious hand toward them. He lets out a low chuckle. “Well, I never really like to wear them outside the house. Don’t you think they make me look old?”

Yuuri is aghast at the statement, shaking his head fervently in denial.

“You’re not old!” Yuuri protests. Viktor lets out another laugh.

“I’m almost thirty,” Viktor tells him. Technically, so is Yuuri but he keeps that to himself.

“Still, that’s nice of you to say,” Viktor continues, smiling kindly. “However, I think you look _infinitely_ nicer in glasses than I do.”

Yuuri feels himself flush to the very tips of his ears and attempts in vain to settle his rapidly beating heart. Yuuri knows Viktor doesn’t mean it in the way that Yuuri wants it to—knows he’s saying it because Viktor is simply a nice person who is caring to everyone he meets. But he can’t help the sudden butterflies that erupt in his stomach, leaving him giddy and short of breath.

Viktor looks down at Yuuri’s paper briefly, nodding in approval. “You know, I think you deserve a break,” Viktor says before he sweeps all the papers on the table into one neat stack, sliding them into his bag.

“What?” Yuuri asks, confused.

Viktor smiles down at him from where he’s standing, offering Yuuri a hand. “Come on. You’ve worked hard enough. Let me treat you.”

Fingers trembling, Yuuri takes his hand slowly.

————————————————————

Viktor takes him to the frozen-yogurt shop nearby, paying for Yuuri’s chocolate mess of a cup with a single swipe of his credit card despites Yuuri’s panicky protests.

 _It’s not a date,_  Yuuri reminds himself as he takes another mouthful of hot fudge and brownie bites. No matter how much he wants it to be.

“Wow! That looks good,” Viktor says wistfully, staring longingly at Yuuri’s cup. He glances down at Viktor’s own cup, frowning when he sees the meager amount of plain yogurt and handful of sliced strawberries.

“Why didn’t you get more?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor gives a mournful sigh. “Sugar does havoc on my body now.”

That hasn’t stopped Yuuri before, and it definitely won’t stop him now.

With eyebrows raised, Yuuri silently offers his cup to the man. Viktor hesitates for a moment before scooping a large spoonful and quickly swallowing it down.

“Vkusno!” He exclaims and Yuuri smiles at the childlike response.

They’re seated outside on a bench, enjoying the mid-afternoon sun peeking out from behind the clouds. There’s a good half-foot of space between them and all Yuuri desperately wants to do is sit closer, to have their sides pressed together and their fingers intertwined. He wants to wipe off the chocolate stain on the corner of Viktor’s lips with his thumb and rest his head on Viktor’s shoulder as if they were lovers on a date.

He can’t, though, because Viktor thinks Yuuri is in high school.

 _I have to tell him_ , Yuuri thinks. It’s wrong of him to lie like this—to _keep_ on lying like this. This situation has spiraled way beyond his control and he needs to put an end to it before anyone gets hurt.

Before _he_ hurts Viktor.

The silver-haired man glances down at Yuuri’s cup, where it's melted into a coagulated mess of chocolate and sugar, his own long-finished. Yuuri hides a smile as he offers his entire cup to him, delighted at how bright Viktor’s smile became as he takes it and how satisfied he looks as scarfs down the melted mess.

 _I’ll tell him_ , Yuuri promises silently. _I’ll tell him soon._

————————————————————

On his next unit test, Yuri gets fifty-four out of fifty.

“The highest in the class, “ Yuri boasts with a satisfied grin. “I was the only one who got the extra credit. God, the look on her face when she had to announce it to the class. It was fucking _amazing._ She looked like she swallowed an entire lemon.”

Yuuri flips through the packet, beaming as he goes through each problem. “That’s amazing, Yuri!” He exclaims. Yuri lifts his nose up haughtily, obviously pleased. Yuuri offers him a smile. “I’m really proud of you, Yuri. You did so well,” Yuuri sincerely tells him.

Yuri’s smirk turns bashful at that, turning his head to the side. “Well, I couldn’t have done it without your help,” he mumbles. Yuuri’s smile becomes wider at that before a sudden idea strikes him and he gestures out the door, echoing what Viktor offered him only a few days earlier.

“Here, come on. You deserve a treat. Frozen yogurt on me.”

Yuuri gives him a small genuine smile before rising out his seat and following Yuuri outside.

(Later that night, Yuri Venmo's him the $40 he took from Yuuri’s wallet the first time they met captioned with a single disgruntled cat emoji).

————————————————————

It’s the day after finals week, which means Yuuri and his squadron of TA’s have to grade over two hundred tests before final grades are due at the end of the week. They’ve taken over one of the study rooms for the majority of the day, circled around the table as they go through final after final, only persevering with the help of caffeine and the box of donuts Yuuri picked up on his way here.

Yuuri groans as he leans back into his chair, covering his eyes with his hands. “They’re so stupid,” he whimpers sadly. “Oh god, why are they so stupid?”

Guang-Hong, seated across from him, gives him a sympathetic smile. “Why don't you take a break?” He offers. “You haven’t had lunch yet, right? Go grab something to eat.”

Yuuri peeks out from behind his fingers. “Are you sure?” He asks.

Guang-Hong lets out a tinkling laugh. “I’m sure we can survive for thirty-minutes, Yuuri. Go—get some food.”

Seung-Gil, his other head TA, shoots him a solemn thumbs-up without looking up from the test he’s grading.

Giving them his thanks (he’s going to write the most _kick-ass_ recommendations letters for them when they apply to graduate school next year), Yuuri slips out of the meeting room and heads to the café downstairs.

He’s only two bites into his turkey and cheese panini when he feels an arm snake around his waist and grope him from behind.

Yuuri jumps nearly two feet in the air, swearing where he burns the roof of his mouth with molten cheese.

“Hello, mon chéri,” a voice whispers into his ear. “How lovely to see to see you outside the dingey halls of the math building.”

“Chris,” Yuuri groans, blindly batting him away. Chris easily sidesteps Yuuri’s half-hearted swipe with a laugh, settling into the seat in front of him.

“You’re finally finished with grading?” Chris asks, a Cheshire grin forming on his face. Yuuri hides his displeasure behind a bite of his sandwich. Chris, an English professor at the school, eternally likes to rub in the fact that he only ever needs to grade around thirty essays at the end of the quarter for finals.

“Just taking a break,” Yuuri explains. “Did you need something, Chris?”

Chris lets out a dramatic sigh, flopping over the table and nearly sticking his hand in Yuuri’s tomato bisque.

“As a matter of fact, I do indeed, my dear Yuuri.” He pouts, blinking obscenely long eyelashes. “I need a date for the end-of-the-year banquet.”

Yuuri snorts. “Matthieu still refuses to go with you?”

Judging by Chris’s downtrodden expression, Yuuri knows that’s exactly the case. Chris’s boyfriend, Matthieu, refused to accompany Chris to any official school functions this past year after he found out that Chris was sharing some _very_ intimate details about their private life with all of their coworkers.

Yuuri gives him a pitying smile.

“Sorry Chris, but you know I’ve already promised Sara I’d go with her.”

Sara Crispino, Yuuri’s friend from the linguistic department, always asks Yuuri to accompany her to these type of school functions. Yuuri thinks it’s because he’s the only guy her twin brother, Michele, trusts to not do anything “unsavory” towards his sister. Phichit keeps trying to convince him it’s because Michele has a crush on him.

Chris sighs. “Well, never hurts to ask. Maybe I’ll bring a friend—show them how us college professors _really_ get down.”

At Chris’s salacious eyebrow waggle, Yuuri knows he’s referring to the infamous New Year’s party during Yuuri’s first year as a teacher here. He’s absolutely forbidden anyone from talking about that incident. Disgruntled at the reminder, Yuuri turns his head.

Thankfully, Chris changes the subject. “So, a little birdy told me that _somebody’s_ gunning for the Outstanding Faculty award this year,” he sings.

“Is that little birdy Phichit?” Yuuri deadpans. Chris innocently whistles.

“What Phichit and I talk about during our monthly spa nights is irrelevant.”

Yuuri snorts.

Chris teasing smile turns softer, eyes genuine. “I can’t think of anyone more deserving of that award than you,” Chris tells him sincerely and Yuuri flushes as the praise.

“Thanks, Chris,” Yuuri responds, balling up his napkin and throwing it on his tray. “I have to go back to grading but I’ll see you later, okay?”

Chris nods, waggling his fingers in goodbye. “See you later, mon ami. I can’t wait to see how _ravishing_ you’ll look at the banquet.”

With a laugh, Yuuri rolls his eyes and bids him goodbye.

————————————————————

There’s a certain twinkle in Viktor’s eye when he arrives to their next tutoring session and while pretty, it immediately puts Yuuri on edge.

Yuuri’s foreboding feeling is correct when not only ten minutes in, Viktor leans in excitedly and whispers to Yuuri in a hushed tone. “So, your grandfather told me you’re planning on going to prom?”

Startled, Yuuri yelps when he smacks his knees on the underside of the table in surprise. Viktor is still considering him excitedly, holding his face in his hands and looking like a child on Christmas day.

“P-prom?” Yuuri gasps. Yuri doesn’t seem like the type who wants to go to prom—in fact, he seems like the type of the kid who would abhorrently detest events like that.

Viktor nods enthusiastically. “It must be so exciting!” He gushes. His full-on puppy eyes are disarming. “Are you planning on going with friends?” He asks.

“U-umm…”

Yuuri has no friends—he only has calculus.

A sly look overtakes Viktor’s face. “Or…perhaps a date?”

“UMMM— “

Viktor blinks patiently, smiling innocently.

“I don’t know yet,” Yuuri eventually says. He considers Viktor for a moment. “You seem very excited about it,” he notes.

Viktor laughs, somewhat abashed. “You caught me,” he admits. “I’ve always thought proms were exciting.”

“What’s prom like?” Yuuri asks, and this time, his question is genuine. After all, when Yuuri was a ‘senior’ in high school, he also was eleven.

“I wouldn’t know,” Viktor says with a half-hearted shrug. “I went to school in Russia—no proms there.”

He lets out a wistful sigh, eyes turning mysteriously misty. “But I love those American movies—you know, those high school ones that always end with the couple finally admitting their feelings for one another? The ones where they go to the school dance and movie ends with them slow dancing together? They make it seem so magical. I’ve always wanted to experience it myself.”

“I would take you to prom,” Yuuri says and the intensity in his voice surprises him. It surprised Viktor too—because he blinks once before an embarrassed flush slowly overtakes his face.

Viktor shakes his head, biting his lip as he avoids Yuuri’s earnest eyes. “You shouldn’t joke about things like that,” Viktor says seriously before clearing his throat. He gestures awkwardly to the abandoned worksheet. “Here, let’s get back to this.”

Yuuri nods, trying to ignore the bitter taste of rejection that spreads throughout his mouth.

Of course, Viktor would react like that—why would he expect anything different? There’s absolutely nothing romantic going on between them. Their relationship is purely professional.

But perhaps, in another life, things would be different. Yuuri and Viktor would both be in high school—Viktor as the most popular kid in school, with the brightest smile and a cheery personality, and Yuuri would be the quiet wallflower, utterly drawn to Viktor’s effervescent presence.

Perhaps, after months of pining, Yuuri would finally work up the nerve and ask Viktor to prom, complete with hand-painted posters and a bouquet of flowers, and Viktor, stunned, cheeks flushed pink, would agree.

Perhaps they’d wear matching boutonnieres, arriving in Yuuri’s mom’s minivan he borrowed for the night. Perhaps they’d hold hands, sweaty fingers wound around each other as they walk through the school. And perhaps, Viktor would draw him in close as the final slow song of the night played, resting his hands solidly on Yuuri’s waist as they danced underneath the twinkling fairy lights with Yuuri’s head tucked into Viktor’s neck.

But that isn’t real life. This is—with Viktor sitting in front of him explaining basic trigonometry as Yuuri struggles to pay attention.

 _I’m in too deep_ , Yuuri realizes with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, _and it’s all my fault._

————————————————————

“Do you know any places to rent a suit?”

Yuuri looks up at the sudden question, meeting eyes with an uncomfortable-looking  Yuri. “A suit?” He asks. At Yuri’s jerky nod, he continues. “Is this for prom?”

It must be, considering how Yuri scowls and avoids his eyes.

“You don’t seem like the type who’d want to go to prom,” Yuuri admits honestly. Yuri snorts.

“Prom’s lame,” he declares. “This music is shitty and I hate all my classmates and I don’t get why anyone would willingly want to go.”

He falters momentarily, his next sentence taking on a quieter edge. “But, you know. My friend Beka’s DJ-ing this year. The music will probably be less shitty and I should probably support him so might as well.”

With a fond smile, Yuuri responds. “How about after this, we can head over to the tux rental shop nearby?”

Yuri doesn’t respond verbally, but his small, almost imperceptible nod says everything.

————————————————————

Viktor lingers after their tutoring session, slowly packing up his things and glancing uncertainly at Yuuri.

Yuuri looks at him concernedly. “Is everything okay?” He asks. Viktor stills momentarily at the sudden question before he relaxes imperceptibly.

“I’ve…been doing some thinking,” Viktor starts unsurely. Yuuri’s concerned look prompts him to continue. “I…think I want to quit my job.”

“Q-quit?” Yuuri asks incredulously. Viktor hesitantly nods. “How come?”

“I’ve realized…I don’t really want to continue as a translator. I mean, I never even wanted to do it in the first place—I just ended up staying here because it was convenient. But…I want to teach—always have. I just forgot how much I wanted to until I started tutoring you.”

Viktor gives him a grateful smile and the guilt Yuuri constantly feels encompasses him even further.

“There’s an accelerated teaching program at Michigan hosted by the Mathematics Department,” Viktor explains to him. Yuuri knows. He’s the one who helped create it with his friend Yuuko from the Education Department. “Applications are open for the fall until the end of this month...I’ve been thinking that I might try applying.”

“Wow!” Yuuri says with an excited smile. “That’s really great of you, Viktor! ”

“It’s great, right? You think so too, right?” For some reason, Viktors voice sounds off, somewhat soft and dispirited.

Yuuri considers him for a moment—taking in Viktor’s thin smile, at how his hands unconsciously clench into fists the longer this conversation continues.

Yuuri continues, tentatively. “It also must be frightening...right?” Yuuri asks him. Viktor stiffens at the question but then eventually relaxes, a small yet sad smile forming on his face.

“It is,“ Viktor agrees softly. “At first, I thought that maybe this wasn’t a good idea. That I wasn’t cut out for this type of thing. But then I thought, what if I regret never even trying in the first place? Even if it might be frightening, I thought I just had to take a chance.”

“I just wanted to thank you,” Viktor continues with an embarrassed smile. “I would have never made this decision if you hadn’t helped me realize this.”

The look on his face turns fond. “Even if I start teaching, I know for certain you’ll always be my best student.”

“I…” Yuuri swallows thickly, a sudden wave of emotions overtaking him.

 _I need to tell him_ , he thinks. _This isn’t fair to him_.

“Maybe I’ll see you around campus,” Yuuri eventually offers. Viktor laughs, nodding excitedly. His eyes are sparkling and he looks so happy. Yuuri can’t bring himself to become the reason Viktor’s enthusiasm fades from his eyes.

“Maybe you will.”

Yuuri hates himself.

————————————————————

“Yuuri! Get your cute butt out of the bathroom or we’re going to be late!”

“Coming!” He yelps, smoothing down the sides of his hair one more time before darting out of the bathroom towards the living room.

Phichit, in his three-piece emerald green velvet suit, looks up from his phone at Yuuri’s frantic arrival.

“How do I look?” Yuuri asks uncertainly, holding his arms open awkwardly. When Yuuri took Yuri to get a suit from prom, he ended up getting one for himself too. It’s an-all black suit, sleek and perfectly molded to his figure. Paired with a crisp black dress shirt and a black silk tie, Yuuri knows he’s looking sharp.

He also finally took the time to go to the hairdresser, cleaning up his shaggy mop of hair into something more presentable. It’s clean-cut, cropped on the sides and neatly gelled. For once, Yuuri actually feels like a put-together professional and not just a formless blob masquerading as a college professor.

“Oh, Yuuri,” Phichit sighs, striding over to him and clasping his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders firmly. “Let’s bring that award home.”

————————————————————

“Do you think he’s noticed his toupee is on backward?”

Yuuri stifles his laughter behind one of the fancy cloth napkins. Sara, dressed in a stunning black evening gown paired with gold accessories, leans back into her chair with a triumphant grin. Michele, from his seat at the European studies table, is staring at the pair intently.

The Dean finally finishes his long-winded speech to a smattering of polite applause before stepping off the stage. There’s a small lull in the program as they prepare for the next event of the evening, quiet chatter gradually picking back up.

Sara nudges him from beneath the table and discreetly nods her head at the Dean behind the stage, frantically fixing his toupee right away around. Yuuri nearly has to bite his tongue to keep his laughter in check.

Yuuri’s giggly mood ends quickly as the Chancellor of the University finally takes the stage, introducing the awards section of the evening with a bright smile.

The Outstanding Faculty Award is one of the last awards presented for the evening so Yuuri has to sit through thirty nail-biting minutes, clapping politely as the Chancellor announces award after award.

Finally, there’s only one award left on the table behind him, shining brilliantly underneath the hot stage lights.

“And, what I’m sure what all of you have been waiting for, the Outstanding Faculty Award,” he announces and Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut, fists unconsciously clenching. He feels Sara comfortingly squeeze at his knee and he’s grateful for her presence.

“…and the recipient for the Outstanding Faculty award is…Yuuri Katsuki!”

Yuuri’s eyes fly open at the announcement and he barely registers the Chancellor's words as the man begins to list off Yuuri’s numerous achievements. Sara is squealing, hugging him tightly while bouncing in her seat, and the rest of their tablemates are congratulating him warmly. Sara is the one who eventually pushes him towards the stage with a grin and Yuuri has trouble remembering how to walk as he makes his way to the front of the room.

He’s numbly aware of Phichit on the other side of the ballroom at the Physics table, standing on his chair recording him on his phone as he yells, “That’s my boy! You see him? There he is! I raised him— my son! I love him! Look at how _nice_ his ass looks in those pants!” over and over again at the top of his lungs.

It’s a blur when he finally makes it to the stage, the Chancellor giving him a firm handshake before the shiny gilded trophy is pressed into his hands. His name, “Yuuri Katsuki” is neatly engraved at the bottom of the plaque.

“I-um, thank you so much,” Yuuri finally speaks into the mic once the applauses dies out, looking nervously at the large crowd assembled before him. “I’ve been at the University for only five years at this point and the fact that I’m receiving this prestigious award is an honor. I’d—“

Yuuri has a speech prepared—practiced it with Phichit several times the past week and has been reciting it in his head for months, crafting words that make up the speech with utmost care. But when Yuuri looks out into the crowd, he can’t remember a single one of them as he locks eyes with the one person he never would have imagined to see here.

It’s Viktor.

He’s sitting next to Chris, looking incredibly dashing in a crisp dark grey suit with a lilac tie wound artfully around his neck. However, the only thing Yuuri can focus on is the utter look of betrayal that overtakes Viktor’s face as they continue to stare at each other, the hurt shining clearly in his eyes despite the distance between them.

Yuuri wants to open his mouth and say something—say _anything_ — but he’s frozen, rooted to the spot and unable to say a single word. After a few moments of silence, Viktor suddenly stands up, his chair rattling noisily behind him as he darts out the backdoor, his footsteps resounding loudly in the otherwise silent room.

And Yuuri, uncaring of how this is supposed to be one of his greatest achievements as a teacher, of how all his coworkers are witnesses and will probably gossip about this for months to come, chases after him.

————————————————————

“Viktor! V-Viktor, wait! Viktor!”

Yuuri reaches forward to place a hand on Viktor’s rapidly retreating shoulder, panting from the exertion it took to catch up with him.

“Don’t touch me!” Viktor yells, whirling around to smack Yuuri’s hand away. The sound echoes throughout the empty courtyard.

They finally meet eyes and Yuuri, as the most heart-wrenching feeling overtakes his chest, notices that Viktor is crying. His tears leave faint tracks down his pale cheeks, shining underneath the moonlight.

Yuuri’s hand is still outstretched towards him, hanging uncertainly in the air. The back of his hand is slightly reddened from the force of the slap.

“Viktor…” Yuuri tries again. Viktor shakes his head, taking an uncertain step backward.

“You’re not Yuri Plisetsky,” Viktor states, choked up. It’s like an arrow through Yuuri’s already wounded heart.

 _It wasn’t supposed to be like this,_ Yuuri thinks desperately.

Hesitantly, Yuuri nods. He’s near tears too.

Viktor scoffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest. It feels like he’s built a wall between him and Yuuri, closing in on himself and unwilling to let Yuuri come closer. “What is this?” Viktor laughs self-deprecatingly before swallowing thickly. He looks back up at Yuuri, eyes shining. “Who are you?”

“I—“ The words don’t come out, stuck harshly in his throat. He tries, again and again, opening his mouth uselessly but nothing comes out.

Viktor shakes his head again, running a hand through his hair. His silver locks are disheveled, hanging in front of his eyes and obscuring them from view.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Viktor asks, mostly to himself. He draws in a shaky breath before turning accusatory eyes to Yuuri. “Was this some kind of game to you? Thought it would be funny to laugh at me behind my back?” Viktor laughs again, all choked and warbly as he looks up at the sky. “God, you probably thought I was so stupid, huh?”

“I never thought you were stupid!” Yuuri finally bursts out. Viktor lowers his gaze, glaring at him intensely.

“How am I supposed to believe anything you say?” Viktor demands and Yuuri doesn’t have a good answer for that. He’s been lying to Viktor—lying to him for _months_. How _can_ he trust Yuuri at this point? “Viktor…” Yuuri says hesitantly. Viktor shakes his head, taking another step back.

“Don’t talk to me,” Viktor says, voice weak. “Don’t look at me. I…I never want to see you again.”

And with that, he runs, disappearing out the courtyard and out of view. But this time, Yuuri doesn’t follow him. Instead, he watches Viktor’s retreating form, tears running down his face and his award still clutched weakly in his hand.

————————————————————

Phichit is waiting in the living room when Yuuri finally comes home, the clock nearing midnight.

He rises to his feet when Yuuri opens the front door, already dressed in his flannel robe and fluffy slippers.

Yuuri stills when he sees him, hand still gripping the doorknob. He’s still wearing his suit, the tie undone and hanging limply around his neck, dress shirt crumpled. His hair’s fallen from the neat quiff he swept it up in earlier that night, hanging over his forehead and in front of his reddened puffy eyes.  His award, gleaming mockingly up at him, is still held in his hand.

He flinches when he looks at Phichit, already hunched in preparation for the scolding he’s bound to receive.

 _You were right_ , Yuuri wants to say. _I should’ve told him. I should’ve told him a long time ago_.

Phichit doesn’t scold him, though. Instead, he opens his arms towards Yuuri and simply says, “Come here.”

Like water bursting forth from a dam, Yuuri immediately rushes forward, tripping over his own feet to slam into Phichit’s embrace.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Yuuri gasps into his neck, tears staining the front of Phichit's robe. “I was planning on telling him—I was! I didn’t mean for him to find out this way!”

Phichit doesn’t say anything, simply hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri sobs. “I’m so _so_ sorry. I hurt him so much—I’m so sorry.”

Silently, Phichit holds him as he cries.

————————————————————

Somehow, Yuri can tell that something has happened. It’s somewhat awkward during their next tutoring session—Yuri glancing frequently at him when he thinks Yuuri isn’t looking. After the eighth time in only ten minutes, Yuuri catches his eye and offers him a tired smile.

“Is everything okay?” Yuuri asks. The teen flushes at being caught but doesn’t falter.

“You’re cool, “ Yuri mumbles, so faint that Yuuri’s almost positive he’s misheard him.

“W-what was that?” Yuuri asks uncertainly.

“You’re cool,” Yuri repeats, much more firmly. All Yuuri can do is blink in surprise.

“Um, thank you?” It sounds more like a question if anything.

Yuri scoffs, shaking his head, crossing his arms sullenly over his chest. “You’re cool,” he says, voice soft, “and whoever that dumbass is— he isn’t worth it if he can’t see that.”

The back of his neck feels warm at the unexpected praise and Yuuri has to duck his hands behind his face to hide his embarrassment. “Thank you, Yuri,” he eventually says, “but if anything, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve him.”

Yuri looks indignant at his reply, seeming like he’s about to protest angrily before Yuuri interrupts him.

“Thank you, though. Really.“ Yuuri smiles at him. “You’re a good kid, Yuri.”

Embarrassed, Yuri ducks his head and busies himself with his review packet. “Idiot,” he mumbles. “I’m just telling the truth.”

Yuuri laughs, a real smile overtaking his face. It’s the first one in days. “Come on,” Yuuri says, nodding towards the papers between them. “Your final is tomorrow. Let’s go over the key concepts one more time.”

————————————————————

Yuri graduates with an “A-“ in Geometry and the third highest grade in the class.

“Turns out you get to drop you two lowest test scores for the semester,” Yuri tells him, looking very much like the cat who got the cream. “So those tests I bombed earlier in the semester didn’t count. God, she watched me like a fucking hawk during the final and when I turned it in, she immediately started grading it while I was there. The look on her face when she realized I didn’t cheat and that she’d have to pass me was _priceless_.”

“Yuri!” Yuuri exclaims as he goes through the graded final. “That’s amazing!” He sets the packet down and smiles fondly at the teen. “I’m really proud of you.”

Embarrassed, Yuri averts his eyes, the apples of his cheeks dusted pink.

“Well, I was only able to pass because of you,” Yuri admits. He still refuses to look at him. “So thanks…I guess.”

“You’re welcome, Yuri,” Yuuri says. “It must feel nice now that it’s over. You can take a break now before school starts back up!”

“Actually,” Yuri says. He’s fiddling his thumbs in an uncharacteristically nervous way. “I’ve been talking to my grandfather recently…I’m thinking I might take a pre-calc course over the summer at a community college before I start school at Michigan.”

“Wow, that’s really mature of you,” Yuuri remarks. “Is there a specific reason why?”

It’s not just the apples of his cheeks anymore—his entire face is glowing pink now. “……I wanted to take your Intro Calc course in the Fall,” Yuri mumbles, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll major in math but the minor looks pretty cool. Thought I could check it out.”

A surge of pride fills Yuuri’s chest at how much Yuri’s grown in the short time they’ve known each other. “Yuri,” he whispers, holding a hand to his heart.

Yuri scowls, shuffling to his feet as he slings his bag over his shoulder. “It’s whatever. I’ve got to go—Gramps is waiting for me in the car.”

Just as Yuri is about to leave, he pauses, slipping his hand into one of the pockets in his backpack and dropping a plain white envelope onto the table in front of Yuuri. “Here,” Yuri says, and before Yuuri can ask what it is the teen is rushing out the door, the bell chiming behind him.

Inside is a single ticket to Yuri’s graduation.

————————————————————

Yuuri’s on his fifth hour of his _Orangutan Island_ marathon when he’s interrupted by a knock on the door. 

Grumbling, Yuuri pauses the screen (where Nadi had just been bitten by a viper and is scrambling towards the trees for safety, dear Lord), getting to his feet, groaning all the way. He knows he looks like a mess with his wrinkled pajamas and the prominent pizza sauce stain on his front. He can’t bring himself to care, though. At least he’s dressed today. The same thing can’t be said for the day before. 

Opening the door, Yuuri blinks in surprise at who he sees leaning against the doorframe. 

“C-Chris?” Yuuri asks, unsure if he’s actually seeing things correctly.

The Swiss man smiles, waggling his fingers in hello. “Bonjour, Yuuri. May I come in?”

Still confused, Yuuri opens the door a little wider to let Chris in. The man carefully toes his shoes off before heading to the living room where evidence of Yuuri’s shame, two empty pizza boxes and an entire Costco size package of chocolate covered almonds, lay on the coffee table. 

“I didn’t know you’d be coming today,” Yuuri says as he locks the door and follows Chris to the living room. He ends up sitting on the leather armchair with Chris lounging comfortably on the couch. “Are you here for Phichit?”

Yuuri could’ve sworn Chris was here only last week for their monthly spa date, where he and Phichit giggled quietly together in matching charcoal face masks and refused to tell Yuuri what they were gossiping about.

“No, no, mon chéri,” Chris says with a shake of the head. He smirks at Yuuri. “I’m here for you.”

“M-me?”

Chris nods, and suddenly the teasing smile on his face disappears, replaced by a serious look that completely puts Yuuri on edge.

“Viktor told me what happened.”

Just the mention of his name is enough to throw Yuuri’s heart in despair, clenching painfully at the thought of the silver-haired man. These past few days, Yuuri’s tried his hardest to forget about him, especially after the one time Yuuri tried to reach out to him to only find out his number had been blocked. Yuuri might not have had the decency to tell him the truth from the beginning but he can at least respect his boundaries, no matter how much his heart is screaming at him to go to him and beg _beg_ **_beg_** for his forgiveness. 

“I-I see...” is all Yuuri can say. Of course, Viktor would tell Chris. If they’re close enough that Chris would bring him to the banquet, they’d be close enough for Viktor to tell Chris about what an awful person Yuuri is.

Chris smiles pityingly at him. “You’re a real heartbreaker, Yuuri. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Yuuri winces, hunching his shoulders slightly. His hands, fisted in the bottom of the shirt, start to tremble. “O-oh. Is Viktor...okay?”

Chris frowns at the question. “I’m not going to lie to you, Yuuri. He’s incredibly upset.”

Yuuri winces at that, lowering his head in shame.

Chris continues. “But...it’s starting to feel like he’s not upset about you lying to him but more upset about the fact he’s not sure how to sort out his feelings for you after everything that’s happened.”

“F-feelings?” Yuuri gasps out. At Chris’s nod, Yuuri frowns, biting his lip. “Why would he have feelings for me?” Yuuri asks. “I lied to him. For months. I’m awful— there’s no way he would think about me like that!”

_There’s no way someone like Viktor could ever like me back in the first place._

Chris nods in agreement. “Yes, you did lie to him. But even though you lied, that doesn’t mean he couldn’t tell what kind of person you are regardless of the situation. You’re the most genuine person I know, Yuuri. That’s something you can’t fake, and Viktor knew that.”

Yuuri swallows at the unexpected response, hands unconsciously clenching.  

“Why are you telling me, Chris? What do you want me to do?” Yuuri’s voice is only a whisper. Chris laughs at the question.

“I don’t want you to do anything,” Chris says. He gives Yuuri a pointed look. “But you might, and I know that part of Viktor wants you to, too. I just think that you need a little bit of a push.”

Chris gets up to his feet, stretching his legs for a brief moment before giving Yuuri a kind smile. “I like you, Yuuri. And Viktor is my best friend. It would be great if this would all work out.”

Yuuri leads Chris to the doorway, watching awkwardly as the man slides his shoes back on. “Viktor likes surprises,” Chris tells him in lieu of a greeting. “Take from that what you will.”

With one final waggle of his fingers, Chris leaves. 

Yuuri ends up sitting on his couch long after Chris has left, staring blankly into his lap. Chris’s words continue to echo in his ears. Yuuri doesn’t know what to think or what should he even do— still reeling from their conversation.

On the coffee table, Yuuri’s phone buzzes with a text message. 

_Yuri Plisetsky: yo are you busy on the 25th? My schools short on chaperones for prom and ur the only cool adult that wouldn’t be a total embarrassment. If u don’t do it, my gramps is gonna chaperone and I will actually die. txt me back_

Yuuri remembers what Chris just told him.

_“I don’t want you to do anything…but you might, and I know that part of Viktor wants you to too. I just think that you’ll need a little bit of a push.”_

If Yuuri is going to do something, he might as well do something big. 

————————————————————

“You know, when I asked you to chaperone, it didn’t mean I wanted you to bring a date too.”

Yuuri flushes at the accusation, averting his eyes.

Otabek, Yuri’s DJ friend he’s mentioned previously, elbows him discreetly in the side. Grumbling, Yuuri acquiesces and levels Yuuri with a steady look.

“What do you want us to do?” Yuri sighs, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Yuuri glances nervously at the door, then at the pile of decorations sprawled all over the floor. Somehow, Chris was able to convince the landlord of Viktor’s apartment to give Yuuri free reign of the lobby for the evening with the promise that he’ll clear everything out by the next morning. If everything goes according to plan, Viktor should be arriving home from work in less than an hour.

“Just—make everything look good…I guess…”

Yuri looks unimpressed by his vague instructions but Otabek silently picks up the box of Christmas lights and brings it over to the far wall. Yuri grumbles but trails after him reluctantly.

Yuuri sighs, nervously wringing his hands together and gnawing at his lip. He looks at the rolling whiteboard he brought from home, intimidated by the blank canvas staring back at him.

_“Viktor likes surprises. Take from that what you will.”_

Yuuri uncaps his expo marker and dares to take a chance.

————————————————————

Viktor comes into the lobby sharply dressed, with hair swept neatly out his eyes and the sleeves of his button-down rolled up. It’s the first time Yuuri’s seen Viktor since that disastrous night and Yuuri’s overwhelmed by how much his heart tightens at just the mere sight of him.

From where Yuri is positioned in the corner of the room, Yuuri thinks he hears him choke.

Viktor doesn’t notice him at first, too busy typing something on his phone. But when he finishes, tucking his phone into his back pocket, he finally looks up and their eyes meet—electricity crackling through the air by the intensity of their gazes.

“Yuuri…” Viktor breathes out, eyes shiny. He looks more shocked than upset and Yuuri takes it as a good sign. Swallowing thickly, his grip on the flower bouquet he’s holding tightens ever so slightly.

“Viktor,” Yuuri replies. On cue, Otabek starts playing a slow, apologetic piano piece through the tinny speakers of his laptop.

“I…” Viktor looks like he can’t actually believe Yuuri is here. He manages to tear his gaze away from him and his eyes widen further as he takes in the rest of the lobby.

In just one short hour, the trio somehow managed to transform the lobby into a vision straight out of a fairy tale. Twinkling Christmas lights are strung over the walls, glowing like fireflies in the dimmed room. There are flowers everywhere ( _probably too many flowers_ , Yuuri thinks, wincing at the current state of his bank account), on the floor, on the table, lined all along the walls. There’s a path of flower petals leading from the door to a nervous Yuuri, shifting awkwardly with a bouquet of luscious red roses in hand.

“What is this?” Viktor asks, voice hush in wonder. He takes a cautious step towards Yuuri, and then one more, and then another until he’s standing directly in front of him, hands trembling from where they’re clutching at the strap of his leather messenger bag.

“My apology,” Yuuri says. He offers the bouquet to Viktor, who takes them slowly and hugs them to his chest. The deep crimson hue of the flowers contrasts nicely with the paleness of his skin.

“I’m sorry, Viktor,” Yuuri says. “I didn’t mean to lie to you—not at the beginning and not for so long. The first time at the coffee shop, I actually thought you were talking to _me_ since you asked if I was _Y_ _ū_ _ri_ and by the time I realized it was a misunderstanding, I was just so flustered that I didn’t know how to correct you. I wanted to tell you—I tried so many times at first. But then—I don’t know—something would always happen and my chance would slip away. Not that that’s an excuse! It’s not! I shouldn’t have lied to begin with. But that’s how I felt and that’s why I could never bring myself to tell you.”

Yuuri draws in a shaky breath, pushing himself to continue despite the tremors of anxiety surging through his body. “And then…the more that I spent time with you, the more I realized that I liked you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you hating me if I told you the truth. So I didn’t. And I know how wrong of that it was of me and I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness and I’m not asking for it, I’m just letting you know—“

“Yuuri—“ Viktor attempts to interrupt.

“No, no, let me finish,” Yuuri says. He shakes his head, gathering his nerves before looking up, resolutely meeting Viktor’s eyes. “I didn't tell you because I liked you,” Yuuri confesses. “I liked you so _so_ much and I thought this was the only way I could spend time with you. I know that it’s wrong of me and I probably come off as selfish and I’m sorry but I can’t help what I feel.”

“Yuuri—“

“I don’t blame you if you never want to see me again,” Yuuri rushes out. “If you do, I understand. I’ll stay out of your life for good. But I don’t think I could live with myself if I just left everything like this and didn't do something to apologize. So this is me. Doing something.”

Yuuri turns to the whiteboard behind him and Viktor’s eyes widen when he takes it in. Holding his breath, Yuuri flips it to expose what he carefully wrote on the other side less than fifteen minutes ago. Viktor gasps quietly as he reads the words. 

Yuuri licks his lips nervously, pushing himself to speak. He doesn’t understand the emotions flickering across Viktor’s face as he stares at the board, desperately clutching the flowers to his chest. “The last time we talked about prom, all I could think about was how much I wanted to take you—about how would it be like if we both were actually in high school. If we could talk to each other as if we were friends, with no secrets between us.” 

Yuuri pauses. This is it. There’s no going back now. “I know it’s not even close to those American movies but…” Yuuri gives Viktor a tentative smile, lips trembling as he speaks. “Viktor Nikiforov,” he says. “Will you go to prom with me?”

“Yuuri,” he breathes out in response. Viktor looks at him with misty eyes before slowly wetting his dry lips.

“I…I have something to tell you.”

Oh god, that doesn’t sound good.

Immediately, Yuuri closes his eyes, fighting back a wince. Oh god, he’s probably read this situation entirely wrong and Viktor actually hates him and he’s just made a fool of himself and—

“Yuuri,” Viktor says. Yuuri doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for his next words—waiting for Viktor to say Yuuri is delusional and how he’ll never forgive Yuuri for what he did.

“I…from the start, I…knew...you weren’t Yuri Plisetsky.”

Yuuri’s eyes immediately fly open at his admission, nearly bugging out his face as he takes in Viktor’s blushing face. “What?” He gasps out incredulously. Viktor has turned a deep shade of red, almost as red as the roses he’s cradling in his arms, and he chuckles awkwardly.

“I’ve known Yuri since he was a kid,” Viktor explains and Yuuri’s head is spinning from this unexpected revelation. “I used to babysit when he was younger. I never thought you were Yura to begin with.”

“I…” Yuuri doesn’t know what to think anymore. He opens and closes his mouth uselessly, struggling to figure out what to say. Yuuri looks over to the side of the room, where a disgruntled Yuri is standing with an intrigued Otabek at his side. “Did you know?” Yuuri asks him.

Yuri instantly lets out a disgusted gag, retching violently with his tongue sticking out. “Of course not,” he spits out. “If I knew that you were trying to make up with _Viktor_ , there’s no fucking way I would’ve helped you.” He continues, almost as if he was talking to himself. “God, I can’t believe Gramps tried to make _him_ my tutor. What a fucking train wreck.”

Yuri shakes his head, blonde hair flying wildly. “Come on,” he says, nudging Otabek’s side with his elbow. He jerks his head towards the exit. “I don’t want anything to do with this mess.”

Yuri is the focal point of all this mess.

Otabek doesn’t move. In fact—he looks strangely riveted by the entire situation, eyes gleaming in interest for the first time since Yuuri met him today. Yuri looks even more disgusted as he takes in his friend's expression.

Yuuri turns to look back at Viktor, almost at a loss for words. “Then why—“

Viktor lets out an embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just wanted an excuse to talk to you,” Viktor admits. “The cutest guy I’ve ever seen was sitting by himself at a coffee shop. Of course, I had to do something.”

Viktor sighs. “I thought if I asked you if you were ‘Yuri’, it would give me an excuse to talk to you and then introduce myself. Maybe ask if I could sit with you until the actual Yuri showed up. But then you actually said _yes_ and I was so taken back that I ended up just playing along.”

He shakes his head. “I thought that you’d eventually realize it was a mistake and then correct me,” Viktor admits. “But then you kept going along with it and I was sad enough to follow your lead because it at least gave me an excuse to talk to you. I thought if I kept on talking about the real Yuri—about college and tests and prom—that you’d finally tell me the truth but then you never did. So I never confronted you either.”

Viktor bites his lip, looking up at him with ashamed eyes. "So...I'm sorry. That I'm such an idiot too. That I lied to you. I was just as much fault as you were and it's not right for you to take all the blame when I was an equal participant on what transpired. I'm sorry that I made you feel like you were responsible for everything when in part, it was my fault too. That's not fair to you at all." 

Yuuri gapes at him.

“Then…at the banquet? Why—“

Viktor shrugs his shoulders, looking down at his feet. “I didn’t expect to see you there, out in the stage,” Viktor admits. “When I saw your face, I just panicked. I couldn’t think straight— all I thought was that I had to get away.”

It’s quiet now, only the final notes of the song fading out. Yuuri opens his mouth to say something—say anything—when he’s interrupted by a Spotify ad blaring from the speakers, both making him and Viktor jolt in fright.

“Sorry,” Otabek says, holding a hand up in apology. “My dad won’t pay for Spotify Premium for me anymore. Give me a second.”

As Otabek goes to turn off the ad, Viktor and Yuuri meet eyes awkwardly. A moment passes before a bubble of laughter rises out from both of their chests, echoing throughout the lobby.

“We’re stupid,” Yuuri finally says, wiping a tear away as they quiet down. Viktor nods in embarrassed agreement.

“It would’ve been a lot simpler if we were honest with each other from the beginning, huh?” Viktor asks.

“It would’ve,” Yuuri agrees, “but at least we can start being honest now.”

Yuuri smiles demurely at Viktor, who mirrors him in response before his gaze drifts back over to the whiteboard behind Yuuri.

“Well,” Viktor says, somewhat shyly. He digs into one of the pockets of his messenger bag before pulling out a bright red expo marker ( _Oh god, he keeps expo markers on hand, he’s perfect)_. “It might not be like the movies but...real life isn’t meant to be like a movie anyway.”

He steps forward, bending over as he checks off one of the boxes.  He looks back to Yuuri, giving him the most brilliant heart-shaped smile, eyes crinkling fondly. “Let’s get to know each other, Yuuri Katsuki.”    

         

————————————————————

Yuuri had a plan for tonight.

He wanted to treat Viktor like a prince—because that is how a man like Viktor deserves to be treated. He pulled some strings and managed to get them a reservation at one of the best restaurants in the city. He planned to “wine-and-dine” him, as Phichit would call it, phoning ahead to reserve a bottle of their finest bottle of champagne. Yuuri could already picture it in is head— the smile Viktor would give him behind his crystal flute as they shared a slice of decadent cheesecake, trading bites with one another in a darkened corner of the room until it was time to leave for prom, hand in hand.

Yuuri had a plan— and nothing on it was accomplished.

Viktor got off work at 5:30 and since chaperones have to arrive a full two hours early at the venue to be briefed for the evening, Yuuri regretfully had to cancel their reservation. In the end, he ended up picking Viktor up at his apartment with two take-out containers of Olive Garden pasta in his backseat and some store-bought carrot cake.

_God, Viktor must think I’m so lame_ , Yuuri berates himself with a forceful stab of his pasta. The two of them are sitting in the parking lot of the community center the prom is hosted at, seated in the front seat of Yuuri’s car with their dinner in their laps. The restaurant neglected to give them any utensils so Yuuri ended up had to dig out some disposable chopsticks he keeps around in his car because of the disgusting amount of takeout he likes to consume.

Viktor’s obviously not well versed in using chopsticks, judging by how much his noodles slip and slide out of his grip. He’s lined the front of his suit with napkins to avoid splattering marinara sauce all over his crisp white button down, brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to pick up his noodles.

Yuuri would think it was cute if he didn’t feel like such a failure on how this night is going.

Yuuri moodily bites into his shrimp linguini. After their first initial greeting and round of small talk, they’ve lapsed into an uncomfortable bout of silence that Yuuri isn’t sure how to break.

“So…” Yuuri looks up, blinking in surprise at Viktor seated in the passenger seat. He’s sitting with spine ramrod straight, looking Yuuri from the corner of his eyes. “...you like math?”

Yuuri has a stifle a snort, less he wants garlic cream sauce splattered all over the inside of his windshield. Viktor offers him a tentative smile and just like that, the tension is broken and Yuuri responds with his own shy grin.

“I guess,” Yuuri says, settling his chopsticks on top of the container. “I kind of have to— considering my position.”

Viktor nods, idly fidgeting with the loose thread on the edge of his sleeve. “You’re a professor, right? At Michigan?”

Yuuri nods. “I’m the Assistant Head of the Mathematics Department,” he explains. He pauses, before saying his next words. “Actually, there’s a chance I might take over as the Head—Celestino’s been pushing me to consider it so he can take an extended vacation with his wife to Italy next school year.”

“The head of the department?” Viktor asks incredulously. At Yuuri’s confirmed nod, his mouth drops open into a small ’o’. “That’s incredible, Yuuri!” He exclaims. “And you’re so young too! You must have gone through school very fast then.”

Yuuri shyly nods. “When I was younger, my teachers noticed how advanced I was compared to my classmates. They put me in an advanced math course but eventually, they suggested to my parents that I should consider taking accelerated courses to really push me,” Yuuri explains. “Someone ended up sponsoring me to come study in the states and eventually, I graduated with a Ph.D in Applied Mathematics when I was 20. Ever since then, I’ve been here at the University focusing on teaching.”

“Wow,” Viktor says. “You’re kind of a prodigy.” Yuuri flushes, ducking his head at the words. It’s the kind of reaction Yuuri normally gets when he explains his background. While Yuuri’s had several years of experience dealing with reactions like these, he’s never been truly comfortable with them. It’s always felt like the knowledge puts an insurmountable distance between him and the other person—makes him seem intimidating and difficult to approach. As if Yuuri was _different_ from everyone else.

Viktor considers him for a moment before smiling softly at Yuuri. “It must’ve been lonely,” he says, tone gentle.

Yuuri doesn’t know when he became choked up but he is, swallowing hard and licking at his dry lips. “It was,” he admits, embarrassed at the slight crack in his voice.

It was hard to be shipped off by himself to America, young and afraid, knowing absolutely no one. Hard to stand under those expectant eyes, judging him and waiting for him to prove his worth, the weight of their expectations heavy on his fragile shoulders.

Yuuri remembered the unbearable loneliness he felt as he studied late into the night by himself in his dorm room because he had no other friends to spend time with. Remembers all the times he cried himself to sleep, desperately missing the onsen and his family and Hasetsu’s ocean waves.

“I don’t regret it,” Yuuri finally says, voice thick with emotion. “But, looking back on it—it was so hard. I can’t help but feel like I missed out on so much. Felt like I was forced to grow up far too soon.”

Viktor nods empathetically and the two fall quiet, the only noise being the soft hum of the engine rumbling beneath their feet.

“Yuuri?”

He lifts his head to look up at the silver-haired man. “What is it?”

“Did you ever wonder why I was so upset that night at the banquet? Especially if I already knew you weren’t Yura?”

Yuuri blinks. He hadn’t thought about that at all, too focused on apologizing to Viktor and making sure he didn’t massively screw up his prom proposal. But now that he’s brought it up, why _had_ Viktor been so upset if he knew Yuuri’s secret from the beginning?

“In my head,” Viktor admits, “I’ve always thought of you as ‘ _just Yuuri’—_ the cute guy at the coffee Shop who was too shy to correct me about his real identity but earnest enough he went along with tutoring and looked like he genuinely enjoyed spending time listening to me gush over math.”

Viktor wets at his lips. He’s not looking at Yuuri and is instead looking out the windshield, his takeout container carefully balanced in his lap. “So when I saw you on that stage,” Viktor continues, traces of vulnerability seeping through his voice, “I just…didn’t know what to think. Suddenly, ‘ _just Yuuri’_ was actually some Award-winning mathematics professor. Someone so much better than me. I didn’t know what to do— so I just...panicked, I guess.”

Viktor let’s out a self-deprecating laugh, one so melancholy that Yuuri feels his heart clench at the sound. “I thought you were making fun of me,” Viktor admits. “I was so embarrassed. You probably thought I was so lame trying to play teacher while you were this big shot. Thought of me like I was just one big joke.”

“It wasn’t a joke! You were _never_ a joke!” Yuuri bursts out, the fervor of his voice surprising Viktor. Yuuri continues, face flushed, at much more reasonable volume.

“It wasn’t like at all,” Yuuri says. “I never thought of you in that way. I wasn’t lying when I said you are a great teacher— I can easily tell that you are. So don’t put yourself down like that! You don’t deserve it.”

_You deserve the world,_ Yuuri wants to say.

Viktor stares at Yuuri for several moments before dropping his head, shoulders trembling. For a second, Yuuri’s panicked, thinking that he’s said the wrong thing but then he realizes that Viktor is _giggling_ , holding onto his sides with a silly smile gracing his face.

“You're too much,” Viktor says fondly, shaking his head. “How can you be real?”

Yuuri flushes, suddenly aware of how worked up he’s become. He forces himself to relax back into his seat, trying in vain to ignore the burning in his ears.  

“We really made things so much more complicated than they had to be, huh?” Viktor chuckles.

Yuuri laughs in return. “We really did,” he agrees.

Viktor looks at him shakily from beneath his lashes and once again, Yuuri is struck with the realization of how pretty Viktor actually is. Even more so than usual. In the dim lighting of his car, with napkins still tucked in his collar and small stain of marinara on the corner of his lips. He looks human. Looks real. Looks more beautiful than Yuuri ever thought possible.

_Your beauty cannot be spanned by a finite basis of vectors_ , Yuuri suddenly thinks.

“Still, I don’t regret it,” Viktor says, smiling gently at him. “Do you?”

“I don’t,” Yuuri says firmly. “Not even a little bit.”

Viktors blinding smile can only be compared to the sun.

————————————————————

Chaperoning mostly consists of the two of them sticking to the fringes of the room, watching the punch bowl to make sure no wayward teens are tempted to spike it.

(Yuuri’s wayward teen is currently up at the DJ booth, standing next to Otabek as he bobs his head to the beat.)

Viktor and Yuuri’s task pretty much becomes obsolete though because after an hour, the refreshments table has been cleared out and all the students have congregated to the center of the dance floor.

They linger in one of the corners of the room, half-shrouded in darkness, side-by-side. Yuuri is distinctly aware of how close they are standing next to each other, Viktors shoulder brushing against his own every so often.

He stiffens when he feels Viktor lean down to whisper something in his ear.

“They did a great job decorating, don't you think?” He asks.

Yuuri nods, a shiver passing through his body at how close Viktors lips linger to the shell of his ear. “It looks good,” Yuuri responds, raising his voice to be heard over the bass-thumping music.

The community center doesn’t look anything like how they decorate prom in the movies. There’s no glimmering chandeliers or fancy balloon arches or avant-garde ice sculptures in every corner of the room. But it’s still nice, with the sparkly streamers hung around the walls and festive center pieces in the middle of the tables that are lined around the room. The room is dim, with the main source of light coming from the technicolor party lights set up at the DJ booth, whirring around dizzily and making Yuuri’s head spin.

The two continue to stare out into the crowd of fist-pumping teens, the bright lights flashing wildly over them.

“There really isn’t much to do as a chaperone,” Viktor muses out loud.

Yuuri winces at the comment, fiddling with the hem of his suit jacket nervously. “A-ah, sorry,” Yuuri apologizes, bowing his head slightly. “This probably wasn’t what you were expecting when I asked you to go to prom.”

“Don’t apologize!” Viktor exclaims, frantically waving his hands in protest. “Honestly, this is fine! Besides—“ he glances warily at the crowd, where one overly excited teen has started crowd surfing with his dress shirt hanging completely open. “—I think I might die if I tried to get in the middle of that. “

Yuuri laughs, hiding his snort behind a hand. “I think we might be a little too old for things like this now,” Yuuri says.

Viktor nods in agreement, a smile playing on his lips. “Maybe next time we can chaperone a book club meeting. Nice and tame. We can bring a cheese platter for the kids as a snack.”

Yuuri giggles, glancing shyly at Viktor. “Next time?” He asks.

Viktors responding smile causes butterflies to erupt in Yuuri’s heart.

The music fades and morphs into something soft and slow, a sappy love song Yuuri’s heard on the radio a few times. Immediately the atmosphere has changed, the lights fading into a soft peachy yellow as people pair up and start to dance with arms wrapped around each other.  The mood between them shifts as the chatter dies down and Yuuri is dimly aware of how his heart starts to quicken and how embarrassingly clammy his hands have become.

Yuuri pushes himself to speak first. “Would you…”

Viktor looks up at him, eyes imploring. Yuuri would even say he looks eager.

“Would I…?” Viktor prompts him when Yuuri stalls. He flushes at the unexpected response, licking at his lips before tentatively extending his hand towards Viktor. Yuuri’s unable to look him in the eye.

“Would you...like to dance?”

If Viktor notices how his fingers tremble when he takes Yuuri’s hand, he doesn’t mention it out loud.

The two stay in the corner like this—their hands delicately intertwined, Yuuri placing his left hand on Viktor’s shoulder with Viktor’s own resting solidly on the small of his back. They don’t dance as much they sway, their chests pressed together and their eyes locked, electricity sparking between them.

“Yuuri…” Viktor whispers. He’s so close that Yuuri can feel his breath ghost over his lips. He suppresses a shiver.

Normally, with this intense prolonged eye contact, Yuuri would feel the need to hide his face in embarrassment. Would stutter and avert his eyes. But for once, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he allows himself to stare deeply into Viktor’s bright eyes which glimmer in the dim lighting. Lets himself hold Viktor a little tighter. Lets his own frantic heartbeat slow and sync with Viktor’s as they sway in unison.

“What is it?” Yuuri asks.

Viktor smiles in a lieu of response, inching forward till his lips are pressed into Yuuri’s temple, right at the edge of his hairline. It’s a brief kiss, barely lasting a second but the spot his lips touch feels warm— spreads a fire across his entire body, all-consuming and leaving him breathless.

Flustered, all Yuuri can do is hide his burning face into Viktors shoulder, pouting when he feels Viktors chest rumble with laughter.

“I like you,” is what Yuuri mumbles into his shoulder, the two of them still embracing tightly as the sweet music continues to play. Judging by the way Viktor squeezes him gently, almost _tenderly_ , and at how he presses another delicate kiss on the top of his hair, Yuuri knows he feels the same way.

“I like you too,” Viktor whispers back.

There’s no disguising the smile that blooms across Yuuri’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: some post-fic headcanons can be found over [here](http://pockybugi.tumblr.com/post/168684341588/quantum-entanglement-minsyah-yuri-on-ice) on my tumblr! Hop on over there if you wanted to see what happened to our fave math boys in the future.
> 
> one day, i will be able to write a oneshot that is less than 10,000 words. Today is not that day, but hopefully you enjoyed it anyway!
> 
> if any of you are curious, here’s the [reference](https://mathematica.stackexchange.com/questions/66538/how-do-i-draw-a-pair-of-buttocks) I used to figure out Viktors butt equation™
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr at [pockybugi](http://pockybugi.tumblr.com/)! I'm considering on opening fic requests for a little bit soon so follow me there if you're interested in that! :3
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! Let me know what you think in the comments! ( n ♡ n )


End file.
